


Untitled-overwatch-fic

by CELERY_MAN



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: AI, Artificial Intelligence, Fluff, Gen, Headcanon, Other, PTSD, Robots, Sci-Fi, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2019-08-01 08:32:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16281152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CELERY_MAN/pseuds/CELERY_MAN
Summary: I've said it for years and I'll say it again... Overwatch's story sucks. People used to get mad at me but it turns out I was a bit ahead of the curve.Overwatch has so many good ideas but never gives stops to let them dwell or develop themselves. Just because a story is an afterthought for a corporatized property doesn't mean it has to be a bad story. Some people say that you don't need a bloody story for a team-based shooter, but hell, Wh40k's lore is just flavor text for plastic crack.One excuse for making lore so vague is so that "The fans will have more empty space to work with." This usually translates to "Yes, it was historically possible for these two characters to make the sex."So, either write a story or don't. If fully fleshing out your story makes it impossible for people to build onto it, what the hell is wrong with your story? Stop relying on lonely weirdos like me to fix your writing for you.Anyways, this story is about robots. And other things.





	1. Chapter 1

Bastion sat quietly beside the trees, his engine idling softly beneath the swaying, rustling branches. A golden jay was perched calmly upon his shoulder, occasionally giving a concerned chirp if its mechanical partner happened to remain motionless for too long. As always, Bastion would respond with a soft metallic hum. Sometimes Bastion worried that the dear songbird  _knew_ he wasn't quite "alive."

Torbjörn brushed his feet through the grass, letting out a tired sigh.

"What _are_ you, anyway?"

Bastion turned his head, slowly. He didn't respond. He couldn't.

"I mean, I know _what_ you are," mumbled Torbjörn, under his breath. "You're... dangerous. You're a killer."

Bastion flinched, almost, startling Torbjörn. He forgot it could understand him. Torb almost tried to back away then, out of instinct— but he knew he couldn't show too much fear around this thing. He _knew_ he couldn't trust it entirely— no matter what.

"Er, _were_ a killer. You can 'control' yourself, correct?"

Bastion didn't move. He just kept staring, blankly. Torbjörn returned the gaze, before stopping in awe. Even while sitting, the machine was _huge,_ especially in comparison to Torbjörn's unusually small stature.

"Well... _Who_ are you?"

Bastion remained motionless, silent as ever.

"I mean, are you really all that different?"

Bastion glanced back down to the grass. He began to play with a small twig, eagerly.

"I mean, you're different from me. But are you different from the  _others?"_

Bastion froze, abruptly swiveling his head to glare at Torbjörn again. The machine started slinking backwards, shamefully cowering and trying to hide the cannon on its right arm. Torbjörn couldn't quite place his emotions, but he felt _threatened_.

"Ah, hell. I've gone mad, haven't I? I'm talking to a _machine._

"At least you actually _listen_ to me. I know you don't have your own voice, but... I guess you can understand mine _._ Still, you've got those fancy little motors in there, right? Why don't you ever try to _say_ anything, huh? In English? I bet you could do it."

Bastion only stared, quietly. He tried to hand the twig to Torbjörn.

"I don't want it. It's a damn stick."

Bastion pressed his hand against Torbjörn's chest so forcefully that the man decided to take the twig, only as an act of self preservation. Bastion booped nonchalantly, instructing Torbjörn to insert the stick into his beard, but these instructions were ultimately unable to pass through the language barrier. Silently, Bastion ripped the stick from Torbjörn's hand and immediately impaled it into the beard hairs himself.

Torbjörn laughed a bit. He didn't think it was particularly funny, though— the laugh was more like an exclamation of horror. It took him a minute or so to regain composure.

"Why did you do that?"

Bastion stared.

"No, _why?"_

Bastion continued to stare.

"If you're gonna humiliate me like this, might as well just _shoot_ me. Come on, buffoon. Where's those big guns of yours?"

Bastion immediately rose up to his feet, seemingly offended. Torbjörn's heart skipped a beat, but the robot suddenly did a complete 180º and dashed off into the woods. The bird flew after, frantically, and the hollow metallic whines faded into the distance.

Torbjörn didn't really react. He thought he was just lucky to be alive.

 

* * *

 

A gruff voice came over the comms. It was Winston, still in the midst of consuming a banana.

"So. Any luck with the Bastion, yet?"

Torbjörn scoffed, grumpily. _"No._

"It's a goddamn machine. It listens, but it doesn't understand. It _can't_ understand. It's broken. This one's just _broken._ It wants to kill but it won't. It's just depriving itself of the one thing it's meant to do and pretty soon, it's gonna _snap."_

"...How do you talk to it?"

"Huh?"

"I mean, what kinds of words do you say to him?"

_"Him?"_

"It, I mean."

"I just ask it what it is, what it wants. I want its motives. Machines don't lie. Not usually."

"You... you can't understand it, though?"

"No. They were never meant to talk. This one's got messed up servos or something, sounds like it's struggling. It's whining all the time. Sounds like a bird."

"A bird...?"

"I mean, they all sound like that. It's the motors in the neck. They aren't supposed to break real easy, but they do, somehow. And they make so much noise..."

"Do... do you think it broke them on purpose...? So it could 'talk'...?"

 _"No._ The thing's decades old. Wear and tear, and all."

"...Okay, uh, sorry. Just, let me know once you get this thing... _'tamed._ ' We're going to need him."

"You're going to need _it_. And for what, exactly?"

"I mean, it's a walking gun. Two guns. _Big_ guns. Since the Recall, well... we've never had this kind of firepower. We need protection."

"Well, I see it more as a...  _problem_. That thing isn't going to 'protect' you no matter what you tell it, and... I'm not giving it permission to shoot _anything,_ so...Dammit, Winston. You gave _me_ permission to keep this thing, but you didn't tell me _why?"_

"I thought you already knew. It's a weapon, right? That's what _you_ said it was."

"It's more than just _a weapon_ , Winston. Two entire generations put their heart and soul into making the nastiest damn war machine that ever walked the earth. No regards to human life whatsoever. Not a single one of those men had any love for humanity, and... Me? I was one of the 'lucky' young lads that witnessed the last few years of the project. You know what happened at SST, don't you?"

"...I know."

"Omnics saw potential in the Bastions. Even darker potential than what _we_ had in mind. You know what those things did to the men, after they turned?"

"Y-yes."

"I've seen _people_ ripped in _half_ , Winston. _Crushed._ The bots didn't even have to use the guns half the time. They don't want to waste bullets. They've got blades on those fists, one on each knuckle. They get people by the necks. They just wait for them to bleed out."

"Torb, I... I-I know what happened..."

"That thing is still one of them. Same build, same purpose, same programming. All instinct."

"Torb, **I** have instinct..."

"You're different, though. You're _alive_. You've got a heart and a soul. You think and you bleed. You have _feelings_."

"Yeah, I have feelings. I get _angry,_ Torb, and I've... I've hurt people. People I care about. I don't _want_ to hurt people, but... Just 'cause I care about them doesn't mean I'm not _dangerous._ I can't always control who **I** am..."

"Oh. I see. I see, now. You're getting all close to it now, aren't you? You _relate_ to it."

"No. Not really. I just think that your logic might be... flawed."

"Huh. Alright, then. I'm done with this. The bot's out in the woods, by the way. It ran off."

"Wait, it... _ran?_ As in, it ran _away?"_

"Yeah. It does that a lot."

"Wait, has— has this happened more than once? Uh... _why_...?"

"It's stupid."

"Er, maybe it's _afraid,_ Torb."

"Tch. What's it afraid of? If it _can_ feel fear, why would it fear _me?_ It's four times my size."

"I dunno. I really don't know, but... Maybe it's not scared of _you_. Maybe it's scared of itself."


	2. Chapter 2

"Hey. Why do you just keep... _running off_ like this?"

Bastion stared.

"Come on. Get on back to the cabin. I'm not gonna hurt you."

Bastion tilted his head, nervously. The rest of his body was still completely motionless.

"You know all those times I told you I was gonna melt you down, huh?"

Bastion didn't move.

"I didn't mean it, you know. Things like you are all composite anyway."

Torbjörn glanced away, nervously. He was wary. He knew how their logic worked.

If it saw anything, _anything_ as a threat, it would eliminate it at any cost. _Any_ cost. And robots didn't seem to understand teasing. Torbjörn often found himself unable to sleep at night, with that thing in his yard. He knew it could remember everything he said, and he didn't know if it took him seriously or not. If it didn't try to _kill_ him, though, that meant it wasn't "afraid" of him. And if it's not afraid of you, you should be afraid of it.

Maybe the Bastion _knew_ that Torbörn didn't actually have the power to kill it. Maybe it _knew_ that it was the one in charge.

Torbjörn stuttered a bit, stumbling over his words.

"Hey. Let's go... back. To the cabin. _Okay?"_

Torbjörn gestured back through the woods.

Bastion continued staring. Eventually, he rotated his head to glance off into the scrub, listening curiously and intently to the shrill, croaking calls of a native pheasant. Torbjörn tried to regain the bot's attention, by waving his hand.

"You just don't _care,_ do you?"

Bastion beeped.

"Do you care about _anything?"_

Slowly, Bastion spun his head, facing it to the little yellow bird.

It didn't seem like a coincidence.

Torbjörn tried to think about it. He knew the bots used to communicate with each other, and they _could_ work together— but they were supposed to operate individually. They always focused mainly on their own preservation. These things hadn't been particularly altruistic to each other, so why would one be so protective of a _bird?_

Bastion booped again. He knew that the human was confused, but he didn't want to _scare_ it. Stiffly, Bastion began to stride past the trees, intentionally keeping his distance from Torbjörn. It seemed like the robot was making his way back toward the cabin, now.

Torbjörn sighed, and reluctantly began to follow after the jagged, heavy footprints. The pheasant crowed again, behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

Bastion stared at the lantern, quietly. It looked warm.

After a while, he decided to turn his head, gazing out over the pasture and to edge of the woods. Beside the pine trees were three deer. They looked warm, too. Torbjörn didn't see them, though. It was dark, now, and Torbjörn didn't see in warm or cold.

Bastion gently swiveled his head to face the human again. He couldn't quite tell what emotion Torbjörn was feeling, but one of his arms looked _very_ cold. It always looked like that and he never knew why.

Quietly, Bastion reached over to touch it. It did not bend like flesh. It resisted touch, like metal, but Torbjörn jolted away. He seemed scared. Fear looked like pain...

"Don't. Don't do that."

Bastion pulled his arm back, shamefully.

"You don't let me touch you. So, you don't touch me."

Torbjörn had _tried_ to disarm Bastion countless times, but the thing wouldn't even give up its ammunition— well, at least what it had left of it, anyways. Removing the entire arm-mounted cannon would be impossible without a fight that Torbjörn couldn't win, and there wasn't a chance in hell of detaching that gatling gun, either. The Bastion's entire frame was designed to carry the weight, and if you took the cannon out, the whole thing would just fall over onto its face.

Bastion booped, gesturing to Torbjörn's arm again.

"It's fake. I lost my old one. It got blown clean off. The debris got my eye, too, and...

"...That's it. That's what happened."

Bastion glanced down at his own left arm, nervously. Then, he looked over to his right arm. It was a gun. Bastion didn't like it, even when he folded the barrel away. He could hide it, but he couldn't make it disappear. But he didn't want it to be gone, entirely _—_  it would _hurt._ It would hurt _more._ Bastion didn't know how to ask Torbjörn if he hurt, too.

The bird was sleeping on Bastion's shoulder now, with her head tucked just beneath her wing. Bastion was careful not to move, as not to disturb his friend.

"So," mumbled Torbjörn, softly. "You know why you're here, right?"

Bastion stared, curiously. There was no light in his eye, this time; only the faint reflection of the lantern across the glass. Torbjörn could see both of Bastion's cameras moving.

"You see, I have these friends. I guess you can call them that. And, they _want_ you. They think you could be useful."

Bastion tilted his head.

"They think your _guns_ are useful."

Bastion lowered his head, with a quiet and unnatural whirr. The songbird opened her eyes, briefly, glancing around in a sleepy daze. Bastion nervously waited for her to doze back off to sleep.

"I already know enough about guns to tell them that's a bad idea. But I think we can still... we... We can _learn_ from you, somehow. I'll figure out something."

Bastion started staring again.

"You look at me like that a lot. It's a different kind of look, too— I can see the way you've got your cameras all adjusted. What are you looking for, huh?"

Bastion didn't even move. The bird was still sleeping.

"Ehh, I know you're not gonna answer me..."

Torbjörn pointed to the bird, briefly.

"So, anyways... does that _thing_ have a name?"

Bastion beeped, quietly. He was upset. The bird was a friend, not a thing. Bastion could not place the human as a friend or thing...

Torbjörn sniffed.

Bastion looked back over to Torbjörn. His face was warmer, now, but... there was _cold_ coming from his eyes. It was falling down his face. Bastion had seen this before. Bastion had seen it  _many times_ before. It was a thing that humans did— sometimes it was soft, sometimes it was loud. Bastion preferred them to be entirely silent. He  _made_ them silent.

This time, though, something stopped him. He didn't _want_ to hurt Torbjörn. Bastion didn't like the thought of killing him— although he wasn't sure why.

Torbjörn wiped his face.

"My daughter Brigitte was good with names. We used to have a bunch of cats. She always got to name them."

Bastion was immediately intrigued, though he didn't like cats. He had seen them before, and he knew they could hurt his friend. They could  _kill_ his friend. Cats were _things_ to Bastion. But maybe cats were friends to Torbjörn...?

"Ah, she gave them all these _fancy_ names, too. Named them after gods and planets, and everything. She was into that kind of stuff, even made me buy a telescope... Heh. Anyways, we had this little white kitten, named Jupiter. He was a good cat.

"Brigitte was _really_ into aerospace at the time, mind you. We played around a bit, and joked about making Jupiter _fly_... Like, maybe we could send him to the actual planet one day. Ah, he was such a good cat...

"Ehh. Here I am, talking to myself, again."

Bastion booped, and Torbjörn motioned over to the bird, again. She was awake now.

"So. How does 'Ganymede' sound?"

Bastion tilted his head. Torbjörn couldn't tell if it was curious, or just confused... but Bastion was _thinking._

Bastion was wondering where Jupiter was now. Bastion knew that _things_ could go away. Bastion wondered if _friends_ could go away, too.

He didn't want Ganymede to go away.


	4. Chapter 4

Torbjörn was laying in bed, quietly, though his eye was wide open. He couldn't stop thinking. About _everything._ Each time he tried to forget a thing, he only remembered it more.

 

* * *

 

"Listen," said Reinhardt, softly. "I don't want to keep fighting. I only do this because I _have_ to. I see people here, people everywhere— and I do not want them to suffer the same fate as me. When I was but a child, I thought I was going to be a hero. When I was an adolescent, I believed I _was_ the hero. Today I understand, this is not who I am. That is who I will _never_ be. Although I can save lives, I can save _families,_ and I can try to do the right thing— I now know there is truly no right or wrong in this world. I endeavor honor, and I endeavor glory... But in war, there is no such thing."

Torbjörn rubbed his face, solemnly.

"There isn't going to _be_ another war," he mumbled. Reinhardt didn't even sigh in response.

"I have returned to London, on _several_ occasions," responded Reinhardt, calmly. "There _is_ a threat. But Null Sector is not that threat."

"What is it, then? _People?"_

"Well, _humans,_ specifically."

"Ah, alright. You think the Omnics are gonna start another _war_ over their _rights,_ don't you? They were never supposed to have them, _even in the first place._ Do you still think that's why the Crisis _really_ happened?"

Reinhardt remained silent. He scratched his mustache, nervously.

"Do you think that's really _why,_ Reinhardt? Because it's _not._ It took those things thirty damn years to even figure out _our_ concept of 'rights,' and only the original Omnica models actually _understand_ it, now."

Torbjörn let his prosthetic down upon the table.

"The Crisis _wasn't_ an uprising, Rein. It was an act of _terror."_

Reinhardt slinked deeper into his chair, nervously. He almost felt too ashamed to keep looking his friend in the eyes.

"Null Sector wasn't a coincidence, either. You still know what's down there, under London. We all know."

Torbjörn sighed, briefly.

"Humans made the God Programs, Rein.

"And AI _learns_. What do you think taught it to kill?"

 

* * *

 


	5. Chapter 5

Torbjörn awoke to a sharp rattling tap on the window. The sun hadn't even risen yet, but a soft blue light was washing over the bedroom, blocked only partially by the shadow of a jagged hand across the wall. It took Torbjörn a few tense moments to collect enough bravery to get up and go outside.

It was early, and not quite pitch black, but there was a chill in the air. Torbjörn tolerated it. Bastion didn't even act like it was there.

"What do you want, huh?"

Bastion stared.

"I'm not _like_ you," grumbled Torbjörn. "I _need_ sleep. Do you just sit outside my window all damn night?"

Bastion tilted his head again.

"I don't want to be _ordered around._ I'm not _scared_ of you anymore, okay? I never _was,_ really. I can't see why you'd try to hurt me anymore. I mean, you— well... You wouldn't ever hurt that yellow thing, there."

Ganymede was not a _thing_.

Bastion jolted forward a bit, seemingly in an act of intimidation. Torbjörn jumped at first, but tried his best not to react any further as the machine leaned over him. Bastion began to click and whine rapidly, until the faint, mechanical screams almost sounded like syllables.

 _"Gwee,"_ said Bastion.

Torbjörn shook his head. He glanced back over to the bird.

 _"Ganymede._ I get it."

He sighed, then.

"Listen, if there's something you _have_ to show me, then _do it_ already. Otherwise, I'm going back to bed—"

Bastion turned his head straight up to the sky. Immediately, he tried to push Torbjörn's chin up, too, but Torbjörn jerked away from the cold metal hand. He insisted that he look at the sky on his own accord.

Space was glittering with all kinds of things. Even satellites were shooting across the expanse.

Bastion raised his arm and pointed. Torbjörn looked and squinted until he could see a faint yellow dot in the dim, dawn sky.

"Bwee?" beeped Bastion, inquisitively.

"Er... That's a _planet."_

Bastion lowered his arm a bit.

 _"Bwoo_. Jwoo."

Bastion lifted his arm and started to point to the same place again. Torbjörn looked back up.

"Huh. That's Jupiter, isn't it?"

Bastion tilted his head.

"Beep."

"Huh. Alright, then."

Torbjörn started clenching his teeth. He was trying not to smile, but he wasn't sure what emotion was causing it.

"I'm... I'm going back to bed, now. I'll see you in the morning. _After_ the sun rises, I mean."

"Bwee."


	6. Chapter 6

Dark clouds billowed above the hilly horizon and a breeze fell into the fields below. Bastion watched the grass wave around, running his fingers through it like hair. It reminded him of water.

Then, he heard footsteps. Torbjörn was approaching Bastion from the side, quietly. He was holding something.

"Hey. They want to talk to you."

Bastion tilted his head, inquisitively. He didn't know it, but _they_ could see him already. Hundreds, if not thousands of miles away, a bright hologram rested above a meeting table— a perfect, intangible recreation of Bastion's form, for all of _them_ to see.

Winston rhythmically tapped his fingers on the table, nervously, as the images reflected over his glasses. Mei seemed rather concerned, restlessly curling her hair around her fingers. Even her companion, Snowball, seemed unusually disturbed by the likeness of the other robot. The poor thing had already hid itself beneath the table.

Torbjörn spoke into the channel again, more clearly this time.

"This is the machine," he said. "An honest-to-god Bastion. Reconnaissance and attack-role automaton, back from the dead. This one's still got its serial number, too. E54."

Bastion was fully fixated on the camera. He poked at it, gently, shifting his head at various angles to adjust his depth perception and more fully comprehend the object. From Overwatch's point of view, Bastion's hologram was facing Winston. He appeared rather uncomfortable, now.

"What's it _doing?"_ asked Winston, softly.

"Listening to _you_ , I believe. He can't see _you_ very well, but he probably knows that you can see him. He really, _really_ likes the camera, apparently."

Reinhardt leaned back in the chair, quietly.

Suddenly, the projector flashed with a jolt of orange and yellow, as Ganymede fluttered into the camera's field. She brought her wings out wider, slowing and banking to perch upon Bastion's shoulder. Both the machine and his friend were twitching excitedly, now, chirping happily and bobbing their heads with glee. Winston smiled, a bit.

"It's not _dangerous_ anymore, is it?"

"Don't think so. Can't be too careful, though. But, I think he's been learning from the bird. I think it's been learning from _me."_

Reinhardt leaned forward, with a sigh. He placed his elbow onto the table, resting his chin within his palm. His heart was racing, and every time he tried to calm down, it only began to beat faster.

"Has... Has it tried to hurt you _before?"_ asked Reinhardt. The words came from him only with great difficulty.

Bastion stopped bobbing. Ganymede stopped too, and she began to glance around, confusedly.

Torbjörn backed away from the robot a bit. He cleared his throat.

"Er... Well, the thing hasn't ever tried to _kill_ me, or anything. It certainly wants to protect itself, though. It wants to protect that little bird."

Bastion clenched his fist, slowly.

"Ganymede. I named him Ganymede."

Bastion's hand relaxed. He wasn't sure why he'd moved it in the first place, though. He didn't think the human had said anything wrong...

Winston almost scoffed.

"You _named_ it?"

"I named the _bird_. The bot already has a name."

"You named the droid _too?"_

"Hey. **_I_** didn't name it. The company did. I told you, it's _E54._ Less of a name and more of a number, though."

Bastion tilted his head. He filled his thoughts with the idea of _numbers_ again _._ Maybe _he_ was just a number. He knew he was _made_ of them. That's what the human had said. Were humans made of numbers too...?

Reinhardt sighed. He knew he had to ask again.

"Torbjörn," he said. "Tell me the _truth_. Has it ever _hurt_ you?"

Torbjörn could only glance down at the grass for a moment. He _hated_ lying. He knew he was _made_ of lies. The Bastions would've never been built, if it wasn't for _lies._ They wouldn't be here if it wasn't for money, if it wasn't for _hate_...

Torbjörn looked up, again. He was staring at the robot's cold hand, now. It was making a fist again.

"No, it... It hasn't... _hurt_ me. It's only _tried."_

Reinhardt took a deep breath, painfully. He was losing focus. Something just felt _wrong._

Bastion booped, softly. He didn't understand why Torbjörn had said that to his _friends._ Did _they_ know?

Bastion knew _hurt_. He knew that he could make _things_ hurt. He could make _friends_ hurt. Torbjörn got hurt by him, once. It made _him_ hurt, too, but he never knew if _he_ could hurt the way _things_ hurt... The human had said that Bastion couldn't hurt like he could. Maybe, the human was right. Bastion wasn't a thing _or_ a friend. Bastion was a number.

Bastion suddenly jolted to the side, startling Ganymede. He angled his head down toward the camera again, and a low metallic growl began to emanate from his chest. Abruptly, Winston shifted around, scooting his seat away from the table. Mei reached out her hand.

"Winston, are you alright?"

"No, I mean— I'm... Yeah. I'm fine."

Reinhardt rose to his feet, taking in a few sharp breaths. Something inside him _hurt,_ but he didn't know how to say it.

"I... I'm going to go. I _have_ to. I am sorry."

And then, he left with those words. No one even batted an eye as he ducked through the doorway and disappeared into the halls.

Winston immediately buried his face into his hand, smudging his glasses. He closed his eyes, sighing.

"It _has_ hurt you before, hasn't it?"

Torbjörn didn't know how to respond, or if he even _could_ respond.

Bastion wasn't standing so stiffly, anymore. The bot seemed nervous; perhaps a bit _irritable..._ Even the bird had a strange look in its eyes. It took all of Torbjörn's willpower to _not_ back away— he couldn't let his friends see that he was still scared. He could't let E54 see that he was still scared.

A sharp breeze came through the trees, then. Torbjörn took heed of the dark clouds rolling in, as they coated the countryside in a deep gloom. The weather only continued to pick up.

Bastion whirred and whined, fearfully, as the branches and shrubs rattled and clashed in the wind. The noises scared him. He didn't know why, but they _did._

"Hey," mumbled Torbjörn. "It's alright..."

Bastion couldn't remember how to scream.

 _"Hey._ Look at me. E54. Hey?"

"Torbjörn," said Winston, concernedly. "Torbjörn. Is... is everything okay?"

Torbjörn snapped in response. "Everything's _fine."_

Bastion immediately jumped back. He didn't like that voice...

Bastion thought Torbjörn was a friend. Did Torbjörn's _friends_ see him the same way? They didn't see _Bastion_ as a friend. They saw him as a _thing_. They saw him as a _number_. They were _scared_ of him, because they knew he could _hurt._

Torbjörn saw Ganymede as a _friend_. But his friends saw her as a _thing._ Things _kill_ things...

Bastion shuddered.

Winston's eyes became wide, and his mouth fell agape. He wasn't sure exactly what he was seeing, but he knew it wasn't good.

"Torby. It's not... It's not _safe."_

"No, _no._ Nothing's wrong. _You're_  the one who's scaring him."

Bastion stopped to glance down at his fist. He didn't want to hurt Torbjörn again.

"Hey," mumbled Torbjörn. "Look at me, E54. Everything's fine."

Bastion _knew_ it wasn't fine. Winston knew, too.

"Torb. Get the _hell_ out of there."

Above them, a tree branch gave way with a sudden crack. It crashed down through the canopy, pulling countless twigs down with it in a sharp series of snaps and pops.

Bastion twitched.

 _"Look_ at me. It's a damn stick."

Bastion _knew_ it was a stick, but it still hurt. He still didn't know why. He didn't want to hurt anymore but something inside of him was taking over.

"E54, if you do _anything_ to me, they will come here, and they will _kill_ you."

Bastion only stared. He knew so many different ways to respond, but he couldn't do any of them. He tried to think. He tried so hard to understand what it was like to feel, and all he knew was that he didn't want to die. He felt scared.

Bastion ripped the camera from Torbjörn, and crushed it instantly. He flung the crumbled pieces off into the grass, and tried to go for Torbjorn next. He stopped, though. A brief feeling of rationality washed over him, only to be devoured by fear. He ran into the woods again.

Torbjörn just cursed under his breath. His hand hurt like hell. He kicked at the grass and stormed back off to his cabin, furiously slamming the door.


	7. Chapter 7

Bastion was alone, but he couldn't convince himself that he wasn't.

He knew that trees were _good_ things. Harmless things; they didn't move, and didn't _hurt_. He loved them, and couldn't imagine a world without them, but as he saw them now, they only appeared to him as monsters. Twisted, tall beasts, with hundreds of dark, swaying arms, creaking and rattling in a faint, whispery voice, taunting him.

He tried to look away, but the trees surrounded him. They followed him. They only got louder and louder until the crackling thunder drowned them out.

Every bolt of lightning made Bastion _burn_ inside. It was a horrible thing, and no matter what he did, he couldn't make it go away. The world just kept spinning faster. He didn't know where to look or where to run. There were no friends, here. Only things. Ganymede had left him.

He missed her. He wanted her to come back. He didn't understand why a friend would leave. Friends aren't _supposed_ to leave. He didn't want to hurt Ganymede, but he... He felt angry at her, and he didn't know why. He didn't want to be angry. It wasn't her fault that she flew away. It was his.

What did anger even mean? Was he really _feeling_ anything? He had heard the human say that a machine's anger wasn't a feeling. It was just a response to a threat. If so, _where_ was this threat? _Who_ was it? _What_ was it...?

There was a sharp but faint click as Bastion switched his vision back to a thermal view. His body started to feel weightless, and he began to scan the treeline, intently. His footsteps grew ever more calculated, but he didn't know where he was going. He raised his gun.

 


End file.
